


fortune and favor

by SydneyHorses



Series: Faerghus Four!Constance [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with an unhappy ending, Childhood Friends, F/F, Pre-Tragedy of Duscur (Fire Emblem)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27021148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyHorses/pseuds/SydneyHorses
Summary: After the death of her family, Constance flees to Fhirdiad in the hopes of putting as much space as possible between her and the people who hurt her. Count Galatea takes her in, and she quickly befriends his youngest daughter, Ingrid. Over the next few months the two girls grow incredibly close, and Ingrid starts to reconsider what it is she wants.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Constance von Nuvelle
Series: Faerghus Four!Constance [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059095
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. blessings

**Author's Note:**

> hi there! this is a commission and it was such a joy to write! if you're interested in seeing more of my work or discussing requests and the like, check me out on twitter @edelgardlesbian

The Nuvelle family has never been especially well-liked. Despite the pride Constance feels whenever she thinks about her name, she has no illusions about her family’s popularity. Still, when death comes to knock on their door, she’s expecting someone to care. Instead, there’s nothing but silence. The Martritz family, the closest thing they ever had to allies, is long dissolved, and not one of their former acquaintances reach out in the slightest.

All this suffering, and Constance is a nobody. She has nothing to her name but the tatters of a title that hangs around her neck like a noose. And yet, no one does anything. She’s a beggar suddenly, going to families who used to hold half the power that they did only to be laughed away. It’s miserable, and before long she’s trudging out of the Adrestian Empire on sore, bruised feet.

Faerghus is not a kind land, but Adrestia has not proven itself to be one either. She has little money and even fewer options, and things there may not be better, but they’ll at least be different. She only needs a home for a few months, until she’s old enough to apply for schooling at the Academy of Magic.

It doesn’t even need to be a home, just a place to live. If she can’t find that in Adrestia, then maybe she’ll have better luck in Faerghus.

-

Constance von Nuvelle is not an unwelcome addition to House Galatea. One day, Ingrid had never heard of the Nuvelle family, and the next, she is being marched into her parlor alongside her siblings to the sight of her father and a small, blonde-haired girl. This is Constance, her father explains. The girl doesn’t speak, instead watching everything going on around her with a vacant, solemn expression. The afternoon sunlight glints off her blonde hair in a way that it has never done off of Ingrid’s. 

“Ingrid,” her father says warmly. “Constance is the same age as you.”

Ingrid’s older brother elbows her when she doesn’t say anything. Ingrid frowns. “Okay.”

“I expect you to be good friends,” he explains.

Ingrid doesn’t understand. She has Felix, Sylvain, and Dimitri. What else could she need? Constance looks meek, like she’s never heard of fun before. Ingrid bets she can’t even swing a sword. “I don’t need any more friends.”

“Ingrid!” her father snaps. “That’s very rude. Constance is having a hard time right now. The least you can do is play with her this afternoon. Introduce her to the boys at once.”

Ingrid is thirteen years old, and she does not appreciate the lecture. Her eldest sister looks down at her, snide. Marjory is to be married in three months time, and she is infuriatingly superior about it. Whatever. Ingrid’s fiance is a knight, and her friend.

Still, Ingrid nods along to her father’s wishes, scowling as he continues to speak about how Constance will be staying with them for a short time. Finally, they’re released, and Constance follows Ingrid out into the hallway.

As soon as they step out of the sunlit parlor, Constance straightens, tossing a blonde ringlet over her shoulder. “By the goddess, that took forever.” She glances snidely over at Ingrid, frowning. “Are you going to introduce me to your silly little friends or do I have to lie to your father?”

Ingrid snaps her mouth shut. “You were quieter in the other room.”

Constance sighs. “I was, wasn’t I? What, did you like me better that way?”

There’s a sort of accusation to it, one that Ingrid doesn’t understand. “I don’t know you,” Ingrid says. “There’s hardly a way for me to like you better either way.”

Constance’s eyes narrow. “Is that so? Well, you should be pleased to know me. My name is Constance von Nuvelle, and I have big plans. Anyone with a hint of intelligence would do well to remember that.”

“Right.” This girl is weird. “I’m Ingrid.” Ingrid shifts from one foot to the other. She’s wearing a dress that belonged to Marjory, and it’s a little too big and a little too out of style. Constance, next to her, is prim in a crisp black gown. Ingrid doesn’t know if she’s in mourning or in not, but if she is, it’s the most elegant sort of grief she’s ever seen.

“Um,” Ingrid looks over her shoulder, but there is no one to be seen. “Do you want to meet my friends?”

Constance sniffs. “It depends. Are your friends worth knowing for someone of my caliber?” Ingrid considers. “Well. Dimitri is the prince, and Felix is the son of the Duke. Sylvain will be Margrave someday.”

“So they are most certainly worth knowing.” Constance arches an eyebrow. “And what about you?”

Ingrid shrinks in on herself a little. “What do you mean?”

“A prince, a Duke’s son, and a future Margrave. What are you?”

Ingrid winds a hand into the fabric of her skirt. Someday, she’ll be Glenn’s wife, and then - what? Is that it? “I don’t know yet.”

“Oh.” Constance toys with one of her ringlets. “I’m the head of my house.”

“You are?” Ingrid’s pretty sure Constance is almost the same age as her, and she’s nowhere near being the head of her house. “But you’re just a kid.”

“Hmph.” Constance crosses her arms. “I am not a child. I’m the only surviving member of House Nuvelle, and I will restore our name to greatness.”

She says it with such gumption that Ingrid can’t help but nod along. “Right. Yeah.” They’re outside of Ingrid’s bedroom now, where the boys can be heard arguing from inside. Ingrid shoots one last, cautious glance at Constance, then opens the door.

Dimitri is laying on the floor, reading, while Sylvain and Felix play with her wooden swords. As a girl, Ingrid hated it when they played with her things, but now she’s older, and they have real swords. If the boys want to goof around with toy ones, that’s their business.

Ingrid undoes the ribbon on her dress and walks over to Sylvain, holding out a hand for the sword. “This is Constance. My father says we have to be friends with her.”

Dimitri scrambles to his feet, ever the perfect prince, and bows. “Hello! I’m Dimitri. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Constance tilts her chin up. She’s shorter than Dimitri, but still manages to give off the illusion of looking down at him. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

“I am!” Dimitri says. Ingrid is so jealous of his easy casualness, the way in which he can pick up and put down his properness and nobility like it’s some sort of physical thing.

Felix lowers his sword, looking over at Ingrid questioningly. She shrugs. A pause. Felix nods. Ingrid smiles. Constance watches the exchange with a curious look on her face. Sylvain tosses the sword onto the ground, then walks over, a smug smile on his face.

“Hey.”

Constance arches an eyebrow. “Greetings.”

He sticks out a hand. “Sylvain Jose Gautier.”

Constance purses her lips, then takes his hand. “Constance von Nuvelle, if you must know.”

“Ah, so you’re from the Empire! What are you doing all the way out here?” Sylvain drops Constance’s hand, peering curiously down at her.

Something about his expression puts Ingrid ill at ease, but Constance doesn’t seem perturbed. Her mouth quirks upwards into a viscous smile, and she tilts her head to the side. “My family was murdered and all our allies in the Empire abandoned me. What exactly I am doing out here is yet to be determined.”

Some of the curiosity dims from Sylvain’s eyes. “Murdered, huh?”

Ingrid feels far guiltier about having been so rude to Constance in the parlor and then the hallway. “I didn’t realize. I assumed you were a distant relative of some sort.”

Constance shoots her a withering look. “I’m not.”

Ingrid looks away from Constance, staring instead at the wooden sword on the floor. “Right.”

“So,” Sylvain says. “Murdered family, and now you’re in Faerghus? That can’t be a fun story.” He pauses for a long second, then sighs. “What was it about? Crests? Politics? It’s gotta be crests or politics.”

“Sylvain,” Dimitri admonishes.

Sylvain shrugs.

Constance sighs, for the first time sounding like a sad, tired thirteen year old girl and not a haughty young woman trapped in a child’s body. “Something like that,” she says, looking suddenly very far away.

“We shouldn’t bother her about that,” Felix says. He sounds awfully pent up about it, which is cute. He no longer cries at every little thing, but he’s still far more sensitive than anyone else Ingrid knows. He turns towards Constance. “Do you know how to swordfight?”

Constance shakes her head. “No. I only know magic.”

A glimmer of interest appears in Sylvain’s eyes, but Ingrid scoffs. “You’re in Fhaerghus now. You’re going to have to learn how to use a sword if you want to fit in.”

Constance purses her lips. “And what if I have no desire to fit in?”

Sylvain’s smile grows. Felix lowers his sword. Dimitri looks uncomfortable. Ingrid grins. “Then I think we really will be good friends.”

-

Constance is abrasive and conceited by turns, but she laughs when Dimitri accidentally breaks weapons and tells Sylvain off every time he tries to flirt with her. Felix approaches her like one would a startled animal, offering to teach her how to hold a sword while looking firmly at his shoes.

All of this is nothing compared to the excitement when they take Constance ice skating. It’s the first properly cold, wintery day of the season, and they’re off to do what any reasonable children of Faerghus would.

“I have a question,” Constance announces in the typically haughty way she has that makes it seem as though the whole world must stop to cater to her whims.

They do, of course, because they’re her friends and she’s louder than all of them.

Constance’s winter coat is too big, a hand-me-down from Marjory that Ingrid herself hasn’t quite grown into. It’s dark green and has a fur collar, and Constance looks absolutely ridiculous in it. She pulls the collar open a little, popping the top button so that they can actually see her face.

“I am well aware that not all of you live here, but no one has ever explained to me why it is you are here.”

Felix shrugs. “Our parents are busy.”

Sylvain cracks a smile. “They’re busy negotiating with Dagda and Brigid. They sent us off for the fall. They’ll probably start sending for us to return home in a few weeks.”

A furrow appears between Constance’s brows. “But you do not miss them?”

Felix’s posture goes from relaxed and easy to rigid in an instant, his eyes narrowing. “Of course I miss them. My brother and father will come for me soon, and we’ll all be happy again.”

Dimitri nods. “I was hopeful that I would be allowed to attend the talks, but my father insisted. He worries.”

Sylvain says nothing at all. Ingrid knows he doesn’t miss home, but she doesn’t remember him looking so sad at the thought of returning to it. She’ll ask him later. Maybe the Margrave can be convinced to let him stay a few weeks longer.

Constance nods slowly. “So you stay here then?”

“Sometimes we go to Felix’s,” Ingrid replies. “Glenn is there.”

Constance frowns. “Glenn?”

A pause. Silence as the four of them look at each other. Glenn is the center of three of their worlds; it’s unthinkable that someone wouldn’t know who he was. And yet, here she is, plain as day.

“My brother,” Felix says.

“My knight,” Dimitri interjects.

“My fiance,” Ingrid continues.

Constance’s frown deepens. “Your fiance?”

“And my brother,” Felix repeats, a pout on his face. Sylvain nods, slinging an arm around Felix’s shoulders.

“How long have you had a fiance?” Constance’s voice sounds so small.

Ingrid shrugs. “Since I was born. Glenn’s not that much older than us. He’s a knight already.” There’s a hint of pride as she speaks, and she lifts her chin. She’s proud of Glenn, of course, and it’s exciting, to know that she’s going to get to marry one of her best friends. The boys wish they were so lucky.

“I see.” Constance rebuttons the top button of her coat, then keeps walking. The snow is deep, coming up to her mid-calf, and Dimitri lets her grab his arm to keep from slipping.

Ingrid’s face warms, and she sticks to the back of the group, feeling somehow like there’s been some sort of snub from Constance.

It’s only once they reach the lake that they learn the next surprising thing about their new friend.

“What do you mean you can’t ice skate?” Sylvain asks incredulously.

Constance lets go of Dimitri’s arm to peer at the frozen surface in front of them. “It’s not something done in Adrestia. We barely ever got more than a dusting of snow at a time. I had never seen anything like this.” She gestures with an airy hand at the snow-covered landscape.

The four of them are silent for a moment. Snow and ice are ingrained into their very bones. Ingrid can’t imagine not trudging through knee high snow in the middle of winter to go clean the horse stables, or waking up to a snow covered landscape, part beautiful and part horribly inconvenient.

“Well,” Ingrid says. “You’re here now, and you’ll have to learn to love it.”

Constance meets Ingrid’s gaze, then tears her eyes away. “Fine. Which of you is going to teach me?”

Sylvain plucks the extra pair of ice skates off Ingrid’s shoulder and presents them to Constance with a sly grin. Something inside Ingrid revolts at the thought of Sylvain helping Constance, but she swallows down the irrational urge to snap at him and push him aside. Sylvain and Constance are friends too. It’s perfectly reasonable of Sylvain to offer to help.

Still, Ingrid doesn’t like it, and she ties her own ice skates with more force than necessary. When she steps onto the ice Felix and Dimitri are already halfway across the lake, Felix skating easily backwards and watching as Dimitri talks with rapt attention.

Sylvain helps Constance onto the ice, the younger girl clinging to him like a nervous foal. Ingrid frowns and turns, pulling her hat a little further down around her ears and skating off. She’s the best skater of the four of them, and there’s something freeing to be found in the breathless speed the ice grants.

She flies past Dimitri and Felix, a loose strand of hair whipping her face. Here, there’s no disappointed frowns about her dreams of knighthood or cloying laughs. Constance doesn’t look sad at the prospect of the future, and there’s nothing but the cold, biting at her cheeks and reminding that Ingrid that despite it all, she’s so, so alive.

She reaches the far bank of the lake and stops, sending a spray of ice and snow up into the air. Ingrid takes a deep breath, panting as she pivots to look back at her friends. From here, it’s almost as though she’s not playing with them at all, and they’re other people she’s never met.

If she weren’t looking hard, she could almost mistake Constance for herself. She’s wearing a coat that belonged to her sister, and although their hair isn’t precisely the same shade of blonde, it’s close enough.

Ingrid purses her lips. Constance isn’t going to replace her, and she’s not going to be jealous of her for having nothing. Constance’s family is dead. She’s being foolish.

Ingrid pushes her bangs out of her eyes and starts back towards the others, skating slowly as she returns into their orbit once more.

-

Dimitri is the first to leave. It’s expected. He’s the prince, and has business to attend to. Felix still cries, and Ingrid pouts, and Sylvain jokes just enough for them to be able to ignore the slightly manic look in his eyes whenever they talk about leaving. None of them know what it means, after all, although Ingrid feels like they should. It’s some failure on their part that they’re never going to be able to make up for.

Constance is more reserved than the rest of them. She adjusts Dimitri’s cape and rolls her eyes when he thanks her, then steps back into place at Ingrid’s side.

“Will you visit Fhirdiad someday?” Dimitri looks so hopeful, standing a step below the rest of them on the meager front entrance of House Galatea. 

Constance’s gaze flicks over to Ingrid. “I make no promises,” she says. “But when House Nuvelle is restored, you will be the first person I invite.”

A smile breaks slow and pleased across Dimitri’s face. “I look forward to it.” He hugs Felix one last time and wishes the rest of them goodbye, then turns and heads down the steps to the waiting retinue.

-

Sylvain is the next of their little group to leave. His father sends a few guards, and Sylvain saddles up his mare and sets off with little warning. Felix cries when he leaves too, and Sylvain laughs and says that he wishes he could go home with Felix instead.

After they’re done, Sylvain makes Ingrid promise to take care of Constance, and then makes Constance promise to watch out for her. It’s ridiculous, but it brings a smile to her face nonetheless, and when Sylvain ruffles her hair, Ingrid finds that she hardly minds at all.

-

Felix’s departure has more fanfare than the others. Glenn comes to get him, dressed smartly in a trim uniform and a deep, Blaiddyd-blue cape. It’s been six months since she’s seen him last, and Ingrid can’t help but feel flustered.

She doesn’t know why, but her mind keeps telling her to keep him and Constance away from each other at all costs. They shouldn’t interact. He shouldn’t - she shouldn’t - she isn’t sure if she wants Constance to meet him, is all.

No one else has any such qualms, of course. Felix runs to Glenn as soon as he arrives, and the two brothers stay close to each other’s sides for the rest of the evening. Glenn is well-liked enough that he stays the night, and during dinner he gives Ingrid his roll without even asking first.

From across the table, Constance watches with her violet eyes narrowed. Ingrid thanks Glenn and tears into the roll, but can’t she shake the feeling that Constance disapproves. It shouldn’t bother her, and yet it does, almost more than she can bare.

The realization comes once she’s further into dinner, and it’s so simple that Ingrid wonders why she didn’t find the root of her problem sooner: she wants Constance to approve of her marrying Glenn.

Felix is excited to see his brother, of course, falling over himself to ask about trade negotiations and tell Glenn everything he missed. It wasn’t an especially exciting couple of months, in Ingrid’s opinion, but Glenn listens with rapt attention all the while, eyes shining.

Constance, for once, is quiet. When she first arrived at the Galatea Estate, Ingrid would have done anything to get the other girl to shut up for even a moment, but now that she finally has a moment of quiet, Ingrid misses Constance’s shrill arrogance.

Dinner passes in record time, and afterwords Glenn catches Ingrid’s eye and motions for her to follow him.

Ingrid glances after Constance, but goes where Glenn leads nonetheless. “What is it?”

“Who is she?”

Ingrid shrugs. “Constance von Nuvelle. On the run from the Empire. I don’t know how long she’s going to stay here. My father found her.”

Glenn’s eyes dart towards the door. He looks so like Felix, even if his eyes are blue. “I missed you.”

It’s such a simple statement, but it brings a smile to Ingrid’s face regardless. “I missed you too.”

Glenn’s smile is a sunrise on a harsh winter morning. He pulls her close, tucking him against his chest and burying his face in her hair. Ingrid smiles and closes her eyes, relaxing into the hug. Glenn is not affectionate in the same way Felix is, but he always hugs Ingrid tightly, like he’s positive she won’t break.

She appreciates it. She won’t, and she’s glad someone else thinks so too.

Glenn pulls away a few moments later, resting both of his hands on her shoulders and searching her face for something. “Sorry to question you about her. I was worried she was some sort of empire spy.”

Ingrid scowls. “Constance? She’s not subtle enough.”

Glenn laughs. “Alright. Sorry Ingy. I worry about all of you, and Dimitri was here with her too. It’d be terrible if something happened to any of you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Ingrid protests.

Glenn ruffles her hair, and Ingrid squacks, swatting at him. “I know, I know,” Glenn says. “You’re plenty capable. You’re going to be a knight before long, after all.”

Ingrid lifts her chin. “I’ll be knighted even before you were.”

Glenn’s smile turns sly. “Knighted at 14, huh? I look forward to attending that ceremony.”

Glenn claps her on the shoulder again, then leaves. Ingrid stands alone in an empty hallway, the wind billowing through the open window and sending the curtains into a frenzy. Glenn’s words always have a double meaning to them, and this time she isn’t clever enough to pick up on. 

Constance would know, Ingrid thinks bitterly. Constance is brilliant, and someday she’ll be the most renowned sorceress in all of Fodlan. Ingrid sighs, wipes her hands on her skirt, and sets off to find her.

-

Felix and Glenn leave in the morning. It’s the sort of devastatingly cold morning that Faerghus manages to spit out well into the beginning of spring, and neither Ingrid nor Constance have dressed warm enough for it. Ingrid at least remembered to throw her heavy winter cape over her shoulders, but Constance is in her thin nightgown, slippers, and a threadbare coat of Ingrid’s. They’re shivering as the boys head out in their heavy winter furs, but neither of them have any plans of going back to bed.

Glenn bids Constance good-bye, then turns to Ingrid and hugs her so tight she thinks he might snap her clean in two. “Be careful,” he whispers.

Ingrid looks up at Glenn. “I’m always careful.” What is she supposed to be careful about? Constance? Glenn seemed convinced by the end of their conversation last night that there wasn’t anything dangerous about her.

Glenn smiles. “You’ll figure it out.”

Felix is next to say goodbye, and he hugs Constance, burying his face in her shoulder. She lets out a small laugh, sounding far less haughty than normal, and then hugs him back. “Thank you for teaching me how to use a sword,” she says, haltingly.

Felix pulls away. Even at thirteen he’s overemotional, and his face is blotchy in the way it always is when he’s on the verge of tears. “Practice your sword forms.”

Constance rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

Felix hugs her again, whip quick and over in an instant, and then steps over in front of Ingrid. “You be careful,” he says.

Ingrid frowns. “You’re only saying that because Glenn did.”

Felix shrugs. “So what?”

A laugh, and then Ingrid pulls him into a hug. It could be some time before the four of them are all together again, and it’s going to be awful, she just knows it. “I’ll miss you.”

Felix is stiff in her arms for a long moment before he hugs her back. She doesn’t mind - it often takes him some time to warm up to the idea of friendship again. “I’ll miss you too.”

Glenn and Felix are off, along with the soldiers meant to accompany them, leaving Constance and Ingrid alone on the front steps. They stand, quiet and solitary for a few moments, and then Ingrid extends a hand. “Want to go make hot chocolate?”

A shudder wracks Constance’s body. “Yes, please.” She takes Ingrid’s hand, and although her skin is almost like ice, Ingrid finds she doesn’t mind. They make their way back through the estate in silence, and when they slip into the kitchen to make their drinks, Ingrid realizes that, for the first time in a long time, she won’t be alone in the Galatea estate.

-

Three days later, Ingrid teaches Constance how to ride a pegasus. The girl is gifted with horses, but she’s never flown before, and Ingrid is all sorts of smug about it. It’s rare that she knows something Constance doesn’t, and it’s even rarer that she has expertise in something.

“It’s going to be great,” Ingrid says. She doesn’t have her own pegasus yet, so they’re riding her sister’s gelding, Articus. He’s a very nice pegasus, and will easily be able to carry the two of them without straining himself.

“Of course,” Constance says. She pauses, then looks over at Ingrid. “You are coming with me, right?”

Ingrid beams. “Of course. I wouldn’t let you go alone.”

A faint blush dusts Constance’s cheeks. “That’s fortunate, for I do not wish to.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes at Constance’s stilted, overly formal way of describing things and then leads Articus out of the stables and into the field. He’s not fully tacked up, but Constance is a strong rider and Ingrid isn’t worried. Besides, there’s something thrilling in teaching Constance to fly the same way that Ingrid’s eldest sister taught her. It makes her feel much older than she actually is.

“Okay,” Ingrid says, leading Articus up to the mounting block and holding him steady with a gentle hand on his bridle. “Will you be alright to hold him until I get on?”

There’s a careful amount of trust here. Articus isn’t dangerous, and Constance will be fine, but Ingrid will have to take her hands off the pegasus and step around to his side before mounting. Constance will be on her own for those few seconds, holding a creature that could decide to take off into the air if he got even a hint of uncertainty from his rider.

Constance lifts her chin. “Of course. A Nuvelle does not back down.”

Ingrid smiles up at her. “Good.”

Constance slides onto Articus’ back, her hands holding the reins as the large brown pegasus spreads his wings. He’s native to Faerghus, and so he’s huge, easily standing at 16 hands. At thirteen, Ingrid and Constance are like toys next to him, but that doesn’t stop Constance from clucking at the pegasus in annoyance. “Shh,” she whispers, and one of his ears flicks back to listen to her.

Ingrid lets go of the reins and steps around to Articus’ left. The instant she lets go, Articus lifts his head and neighs. Constance clucks at him again, soothing him. He doesn’t take off, although it’s obvious he thought about it, and Ingrid climbs onto his back without incident.

Ingrid tucks herself against Constance’s back, then reaches her arms around the other girl’s waist to take the reins. Constance gasps, and Ingrid tenses. “Is this - are you?”

“It’s fine,” Constance says, too quick to be sure if she means it.

A moment later she relaxes against Ingrid’s chest, so perhaps she really did mean it. “Okay,” Ingrid says. “I’m going to ask him to take off. You’ve got a good grip with your legs, right?”

“Honestly,” Constance snaps. “It’s like you think I’m some snivelling child who has never ridden a horse before. Yes, my legs are fine. Are you going to ask if I know the different gaits next? Or how to pick a hoof?”

Ingrid laughs. “Okay, okay! You’ve made your point.” 

She tightens her arms around Constance’s waist, then squeezes Articus with her legs. He steps forward, and after a few steps she coaxes him into a trot. Constance doesn’t seem at all upset, not to her surprise, and finally Ingrid leans forward. “Alright,” she says. “Stand up and get your weight off his back, and then I’ll ask him to take off.”

Constance stands, her legs trembling as she holds herself up. Ingrid follows suit, and then whispers to Articus. With a bound, he spreads his wings and takes off, jumping into the air. Constance lets out a wild, excitable yelp, and Ingrid laughs.

Ingrid’s favorite part of flying is the moment before a pegasus’ wings catch an updraft, when they’re seconds away from falling. Articus hangs in the air for a long moment, and then he flaps his wings again and they soar upwards. It’s perfect, and as they make their way into the sky, Ingrid grins, her hair whipping against her face.

When they finally level out, Constance lets out a laugh. It’s nothing like the haughty, almost mocking laughter she normally employs, and instead it’s full of a wonder that Ingrid knows all too well. “This is incredible,” she says. Her voice has lost its superior quality, and Ingrid beams.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” The wind steals the words right out of her mouth, but there’s no question about the joy and excitement between the two of them.

Constance nods furiously, then leans back further against Ingrid. Her body is warm and solid against her, and Ingrid’s cheeks warm. They don’t fly for long - a short cruise around the estate, really, and when they finally land, both girls are breathless.

Ingrid slides off of Articus first, and then walks around to take his reins from Constance. Her friend swings her leg over his back, and then slides to the ground. She stumbles a little at the landing, then straightens and dusts her riding clothes off.

Ingrid beams. “Well?”

Constance clears her throat. “That was… certainly an experience.”

Ingrid leads Articus back into the stables. “So you didn’t like it?”

“No!” Constance cries. “It was incredible!”

Ingrid smirks. “I’m glad to hear it. We can have another lesson some other time! Eventually, you can even ride some of our other pegasi!”

She puts Articus, who isn’t even winded, back in his stall, and then turns to Constance. To her surprise, her friend seems uncharacteristically subdued. “Constance?”

Constance sighs. “About that. Ingrid, I…” she takes a deep breath, “your father and I have been talking, and… I plan to apply to the Fhirdiad School of Sorcery.”

Ingrid’s face falls. She means to coach the expression, to put up some sort of front, but she fails. “What?”

Constance curls one of her hands into the fabric of her shirt. “I couldn’t stay here forever, Ingrid.”

“I don’t understand. Are you not happy here? Is my father forcing you to leave? I can talk to him. I-”

“No, Ingrid,” Constance interjects. “There’s just… nothing for me here. There’s no opportunities to help House Nuvelle, and no way for me to get any sort of social standing back.”

Ingrid’s throat tightens. “But… I’m here.” It feels childish and foolish as soon as she says it, but it doesn’t stop her heart from tightening in her chest.

“We’ll still be friends,” Constance protests. “And you have Felix, Sylvain, and Dimitri.” A pause. “And Glenn. You’ll be fine.”

Ingrid’s face is hot and she hates herself for showing weakness as she scrubs at her eyes. “Of course. I understand.”

Constance carefully reaches out and rests a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder. “It’s not forever,” she whispers. “Someday, House Nuvelle will be restored, and you’ll be able to visit as much as you like.”

Ingrid swallows and forced the best smile she can manage to her face. “Right. Of course.”

The two of them make their way back to the estate, but it feels hollow. As much as Ingrid wishes otherwise, she knows that everything has just changed forever.


	2. curses

“You’ll write, won’t you?”

It’s the day of Constance’s departure, and try as she might, Ingrid can’t help but feel a little fragile about the whole affair. It seems that no matter what she does or who it is, she gets left behind. First there was Glenn, knighted at fifteen, and then there’s the rest of them. Dimitri will be King. Felix will be a Duke, and Sylvain will be Margrave. The three of them will be the new faces of the Kingdom, leading them to future glory.

Then there’s Ingrid. She’ll be Glenn’s wife, and a knight if she’s lucky. After thirteen years it should stop leaving a bitter taste on her tongue, but it’s no use. She’s still here, left behind.

Now Constance is leaving as well, off to Fhirdiad to wow the world with her magical prowess. She’ll be close to Dimitri - if the two wanted, they could visit. It’s unfair, and Ingrid is having a difficult time being convincingly proud of her.

Constance laughs, tossing her head back. For just a moment, her curls fan out, framing her face in a golden halo. Ingrid is no artist, but she her hand itches for a pencil nonetheless.

“Of course! What sort of friend would I be if I were not to regale you with tales of my exploits?”

This time, Ingrid’s smile feels more genuine. “Good. I expect lots of updates. I want to know everything that happens.”

Constance nods, clutching her cape a little tighter around her. It’s Ingrid’s old cape, a little worn in some spots but still warm. She feels a strange sense of pride at the sight of Constance in Galatea’s signature green - is this the way Dimitri feels when he sees Glenn wearing his colors? Perhaps she’ll ask him someday.

Constance glances over her shoulder to the waiting sleigh. “I should be going.”

Ingrid nods. “You should.” Her face is too warm all of a sudden, and before she can think it through she’s rushing forward and throwing her arms around Constance.

Constance yelps, then softens, pulling her tighter into the hug. Ingrid presses her face into Constance’s neck and tries to pretend she isn’t going to cry. “I’ll miss you.”

A shuddery breath from Constance. “I’m going to miss you too.”

When Ingrid finally pulls back, it’s starting to snow. The white flakes waltz down elegantly around them, and Ingrid smiles tenuously. “They’re sending you off.”

“As they should,” Constance says, tipping her head back to look up at the overcast sky.

Ingrid takes a deep breath, having sufficiently regained her composure. “Have a safe trip.”

“I will endeavor to do so,” Constance replies. She reaches out and tucks a strand of Ingrid’s hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering for just a fraction of a second too long on her cheek. 

Ingrid flushes and her heart jumps into overdrive. She doesn’t know what it means. “I’ll see you again.”

Constance smiles, a wisp of a thing. “Of course.”

They hug one last time, and then Constance turns and walks down the steps. She doesn’t look back when she climbs into the sleigh, but Ingrid watches until she’s long out of sight.

-

_Dear Ingrid,_

_How are things in Galatea? Fhirdiad is so different. No pegasi circle the skies above us, and the only shouts I hear are from professors reprimanding tardy students. I miss the open skies of Galatea, and the horses neighing at us when we go for a walk or have a picnic. I do not mean to complain. It’s nice to be back in a city again - I’ve missed the bustle of people going to and fro. There are a great many things to see and hear, and I fear that no matter how long I spend looking, I will never hear them all._

_Regardless, I am lonely. Most of the other students are native to the Kingdom, and they know that I am not one of them. I thought since I got along so well with you, Dimitri, Felix, and Sylvain that I would be fine, but alas._

_I apologize. When I set down to pen this letter, my only intentions were to tell you that I was doing well, and to ask after your wellbeing. So, I will do that now. I am doing well. My studies are not very difficult, and I excel in most areas of magic. I have not yet made friends with my classmates, but in my opinion that is only due to their lack of familiarity with proper nobility. Please, do not mention that part to Dimitri. He can be so sensitive._

_Please wish your family well for me, and thank your father again for his letter of recommendation. My one saving grace here has been the connections I made with your family. Although I of course long for House Nuvelle, I miss you more than words can properly express._

_Your Friend,_

_Constance von Nuvelle_

_Constance,_

_I’m glad to see you’re adjusting well to life in Fhirdiad! I miss you too. I know Felix wants to visit Dimitri soon; I’ll try to tag along and come visit you while I’m in the city. He may very well want to stop by as well - if the prince shows up and asks for you by name, I’m sure at the very least everyone will be impressed by you!_

_Things here in Galatea are as they always are. My eldest sister moved out for good, out to a smaller house in the country with her husband. My brother plans on asking one of the Charon girls to marry in the coming year. They both told me how lucky I was to be marrying someone I know, and for it to be Glenn of all people._

_My sister asked if I’ve ever kissed Glenn. I’d never even thought about kissing Glenn before she asked me! I can’t kiss Glenn. He’s like… family. I’d rather kiss someone like you, if I had to kiss anyone at all._

_I’m sorry, I don’t mean to go on about myself! Look - now we’ve both done it in letters, so we’re both forgiven. What other news is there? My sister is taking Articus with her, as is expected. I’m heartbroken, even if I understand. My father said that due to the lower expenses, he may be able to buy my a pegasus this year. I don’t want to presume or to pressure him, but I hope with everything I have that he means it. I will not be much of a pegasus knight if I cannot fly, after all. Any sort of knight would do, of course, but I’d much rather be in the skies. I can keep a better eye on everyone from up there._

_I digress. I am talking at length about nothing particularly interesting. What else should I tell you? The pond isn’t frozen over anymore, and I can hear some of the birds returning for the coming spring. Galatea is not a lush land, nor is it especially green, but it’s miles better than Fhirdiad. I think you would have liked it here. It’s kinder, or as kind as Faerghus can be._

_I pray that Fhirdiad is kind as well._

_Your friend,_

_Ingrid_

_Ingrid,_

_You wrote to Dimitri, didn’t you? I can’t believe you’d do such a thing! He dropped by completely unannounced, and threw the whole academy into an uproar. There’s apparently protocols for royal visits, none of which were followed. Quite a scandal, or so I’m told._

_Matters of national security aside, it was lovely to see him. We went for a walk and I told him about my studies, and he told me the latest news about all of you. He seemed almost afraid to talk about himself - you don’t think Dimitri is afraid of me, do you? A prince, afraid of a noble from the Empire! Imagine what the gossips will say._

_I do hope you can manage to come and visit though. As lovely as it was to see Dimitri, it’s not the same as seeing you. I long for last winter, when we could spend all of our days together. Although it seems almost a foolish dream, I do hope that the five of us can all be together again someday. Perhaps for my graduation next year, if nothing else._

_Here I am, making plans for you. How terribly uncouth of me. I thank you again for sending Dimitri to visit. It was a pleasure, and a very kind surprise. I do not know if we’ll be able to see each other again soon - the guards really were terribly worried! Apparently he told no one where he was going and there was a brief concern over his perceived ‘disappearance!’ I cannot decide if that says more about the state of the royal guard or Dimitri himself. Do let me know your thoughts._

_Yours,_

_Constance_

_Constance,_

_I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. If Dimitri decided to drop by that was entirely his doing. I would never influence the prince to neglect his duties and visit a dear friend instead. I am rather insulted that you would even suspect such a thing of me._

_I’m glad the two of you had fun, though. I wish that I were able to visit so easily. I’d shirk a million royal duties and ignore any number of guards to come see you. I digress. Things here progress much as normal. Glenn heads out on a diplomatic trip with the King and Dimitri soon. He’s excited about it, although I know Felix wishes he wouldn’t go. He has never quite gotten used to Glenn being Dimitri’s knight and not just his brother. It’s odd, how duty must come before family. I find myself thinking about it a lot. When Glenn and I are wed in five years time, him and I will have to fight over which of us gets to put our knighthood before our estate. It’s a good problem to have, I suppose._

_Felix is coming to visit in a few days, as a consolation for Glenn’s absence. It will be nice to see him, but I do wish all of us were together again, as you said. It’s lonely here. Marjory is living with her husband, as you know, and my brother has moved out as well. It’s just me and father, alone in the estate. I worry what he will do when I finally move out as well. He sends his regards. He’s always been fond of you, as I’m sure you know. I think if you didn’t have such grand ambitions he would have offered to let you stay indefinitely._

_I’m rambling now. I apologize; this letter has gone on for far too long. I simply miss you, is all. I hope that we see each other again soon. When you graduate I will be in the front row, cheering for you louder than anyone._

_Yours,_

_Ingrid_

_Ingrid,_

_I heard about the King. It’s devastating, I know, but my thoughts are only of you. Glenn… Ingrid, I’m so sorry. I know how dear he was to you. It’s not the same, I know, but… perhaps I can understand. I have lost loved ones too. You are not alone, no matter how desperately lonely you feel. I can’t afford to leave the Academy, but I wish I could be there. As soon as I graduate, I will be at your side. I can’t imagine how Dimitri and Felix are doing. Please, if you read this and have the ability to do so, send them my regards._

_I know very little details about Glenn’s death. There isn’t much revealed to the public here. All I can do is keep my head down and hope that he didn’t feel much pain. I hope the funeral brings some kind of peace. I did not know Glenn very well, but I know you cared for him deeply. He seemed to love you a lot. I’m sure he would be glad that you are safe, and want you to be happy again someday. If you feel lonely at the funeral, imagine that I am there with you. I would be were I able._

_Although I can not be there in person, know that I think only of you. If there’s anything at all that I can do from Fhirdiad, please let me know at once._

_Yours,_

_Constance_

_Ingrid,_

_The king’s public funeral was today. The students were given the day off from our studies to go watch the proceedings and pay our respects. They were lovely, even if they did remind me of unfortunate times. We didn’t see the body, of course, but there was music, and a procession through the streets. I’m not of Faerghus, but I still felt the same grief as everyone else. Most startlingly of all, I saw Dimitri at the ceremony. It was from a distance, of course. He was at the head of the proceedings, stuffed into a ceremonial set of armor that didn’t quite fit him. He was surrounded on all sides by guards, but I can’t imagine they were very comforting. The death of a family member is a terrible, lonely thing._

_I wish I could go to him. I wanted to run to him when I saw him in the procession, but I knew that no one would believe that we were friends. He looked terrible, Ingrid. I am worried for you, of course, but if you are able, please check on him. I don’t think that Dimitri should be alone right now, if we can help it._

_-Constance_

_Ingrid,_

_Please, Ingrid. I’m so tired of writing to someone who isn’t there. Just a quick response is all I ask. Even if your only answer is to ask me to leave you alone for the rest of our lives, that would be better than nothing. I will do whatever you need me to, please. I just want to know that you’re alright._

_Please write back soon,_

_Constance_

-

The year passes in fits and starts. Constance does well in her classes, and when she graduates near the top of her class, she isn’t surprised. She has no family to invite, but the school sends invitations and news of her graduation to Count Galatea. There’s no response, which she cannot pretend to be surprised by. Try as she might to pretend otherwise, Constance knows what she has to do next. The return journey to Adrestia doesn’t take her anywhere near Galatea, and yet.

And yet.

Constance sighs and books passage on a carriage that has a scheduled stop in Galatea territory. It wipes out the rest of her meagre savings, but she’s hopeful that the trip will be worth it. After all, it’s not like there’s much waiting for her in Adrestia. Lately, the sun has seemed more and more oppressive every day. Faerghus and its heavy, clouded skies soothe her. She’s in no rush to get back to a land that stole everything from her. Still, it’s what her family would want, and perhaps now that she’s a little older, she’ll be able to go to the court and petition for her status.

She sends word ahead that she’s coming to visit, but she’s not expecting a response. Ingrid hasn’t replied to a single one of her letters since Glenn’s death, and Constance sees no reason why that should change now. Still, when she arrives at Galatea, she isn’t prepared for the grim silence that greets her. The grounds of the estate are silent, and when she steps out of the carriage, it’s as though no one has ever lived here at all.

If not for the fond memories from last year, Constant would doubt that she was in the right place. She knows better though, and so she pulls Ingrid’s borrowed cloak a little tighter around her, picks up her suitcase, and sets off towards the door. She knocks with two sharp taps, and after standing there for a few minutes only to be greeted with no response, Constance sighs, gathers her courage, and opens the door.

It’s unlocked, and the house looks just as she remembers it. Constance swallows and sets her suitcase down on the floor. “Hello? Ingrid? Count Galatea?”

Her voice echoes through the house, and for a terrible moment she’s convinced that everyone died along with Glenn, and that she’s visiting a grave. Such worries are unfounded though, for Count Galatea descends down the staircase moments later.

“Constance.” He sounds awful, his voice worn ragged and his brows drawn together. His eyes look sunken in, as though he hasn’t slept in some time, and his face is unnaturally pale. “I forgot you were coming, I apologize.”

“It is no trouble,” Constance says, holding her tongue. “I - how are you faring?” She’s still standing in the doorway, not quite a stranger and not quite an honored guest.

He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “How am I faring? I am alive, Constance. I suppose that is something to be grateful for.”

Constance adjusts the collar of her - Ingrid’s - cloak. “Yes, of course.”

Count Galatea sighs. “You’re here to see Ingrid, I gather? 

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Constance replies.

He shakes his head, turning to head back up the stairs. “It’s no trouble at all. I warn you though, she may not want to see you. Glenn’s death hit her hard.”

Glenn. He lays at the center of all of this, a knot that Constance could never hope to untangle. The others talked about him almost as though he were a god, or some other mythical creature. When Constance had meant him, he’d seemed like every sixteen year old boy she’d ever met before. Nothing special or phenomenal about him. Still, to Ingrid, he was her entire future.

She can only imagine how Felix is doing.

Constance turns the corner and heads down the hallway where Ingrid’s room is located. It’s in the east wing - if one could call it a wing - and is a little colder than the rest of the house. She’s expecting a teary eyed Ingrid, but instead she’s greeted with Sylvain, slumped against the wall outside Ingrid’s room and snoring softly. She stops, looking down at him. He’s grown up a little since she last saw him, but he looks much the same: tall, broad-chested, with a shock of unruly red hair. He’s dead to the world, fast asleep and completely oblivious to her presence. It sparks a strange fondness in Constance, but she pushes past it and knocks quietly on Ingrid’s door, leaving Sylvain to her rest.

A pause. “Sylvain, I told you to leave me alone.”

“Not Sylvain,” Constance responds.

The other side of the door goes silent. Footsteps sound from within, and then the door opens. “Constance?”

Ingrid looks awful. If her father was weary and defeated, Ingrid has been dragged through the grave and then shoved into a mourning outfit meant for a much older woman. There’s pronounced bags under her bloodshot eyes, and her cheeks are sunken and pale.

“Ingrid,” she says. “Goddess, I - what’s happened to you?”

Ingrid shakes her head. “You’d better come in.” Her gaze drifts over to Sylvain. “He needs the rest.” She steps aside, and after a moment, Constance follows her into her bedroom.

When they’d first become friends, Ingrid’s room was always a mess. She had a bad habit of leaving clothes laying around, and there were often toy weapons and horses scattered absentmindedly. That is not the case now. Ingrid’s room is spotless, as though no one’s ever stepped foot inside before. It doesn’t look like Ingrid’s room, or like anyone’s room for that matter. It’s a tomb, almost. She half expects to see Glenn’s corpse laying on the floor.

Constance wisely does not remark on any of that, and instead sits on the bed next to Ingrid. “Well?”

Ingrid lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Well what? What do you want to hear?”

Constance frowns. “Are you doing alright?”

Ingrid scrubs a hand over her face. “No, Constance, I’m not ‘doing alright.’ My life is a mess, my future is ruined, and as soon as Glenn died other suitors started sending letters!”

The last part in particular catches Constance’s attention. She presses her lips together, horrified. “Already?”

Ingrid gestures towards her immaculate desk. “Take a look for yourself.”

Constance walks over to the desk, frowning at the pile of papers. The letter on the top of the stack is written in a large, looping hand, and at Ingrid’s nod, Constance pics it up to read it over. She gets barely more than a few lines in before she’s dropping it back onto the desk, lip curled in disgust. “Are they all like this?”

Ingrid collapses back on her bed, picking up her pillow and clutching it to her chest. “Every last one. The more polite ones offer condolences for the death of my former fiance, at least.”

A wave of disgust threatens to knock Constance over, and she sits down heavily at the foot of Ingrid’s beds. “Those fiends. They have no tact at all, much less humanity.”

Ingrid lets out a hollow, broken laugh. “There’s no humanity here. Glenn is dead, and none of those bastards would care at all if not for the fact that it means my crest is back on the market.”

Constance states at Ingrid, watching the slight twitch of her lip as though she’s about to cry. “Ingrid…” she presses her lips together into a thin line. “You should leave.”

“Now’s not the time for jokes,” Ingrid snaps. “You know very well I have a responsibility to my family.”

“There’s no joke here,” Constance replies. She reaches out and places a hand gently on Ingrid’s knee. “You could leave. Come to Adrestia with me. I’m planning to petition the Emperor to restore House Nuvelle.”

“Constance.” Ingrid sounds tired, and when she sits up, her already bloodshot eyes look even more puffy than they did mere moments ago.

“I’m serious!” Constance argues. “There will always be a place for a talented lady knight in House Nuvelle. You could be happy there. _We_ could be happy there. I’ve missed you so much, Ingrid. I know you want to help your family, but if I can get my status back, you can send part of House Nuvelle’s earnings back to your father. He’ll understand! We’ll be able to work it out!”

“Stop, just stop!” Ingrid cries, scowling. “Constance, this isn’t a fairy tale! I have a family that’s relying on me, and I have to help them!”

“This could help them!” Constance jumps to her feet, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “You could become a knight! You could do what you want, instead of what your father wants!” “It’s not that simple,” Ingrid says. She sits up, bowing her head and staring at her hands.

Looking down on her, Constance feels a rush of pity, at the sad hand life has dealt one Ingrid Brandl Galatea. Fate hasn’t been kind to her either, but at least Constance is doing something about it. “It is simple,” Constance says, weary beyond belief. “You just don’t want it to be.”

Ingrid lets out a hollow laugh and whips her head up to look at Constance. “It’s simple now, is it? What, am I supposed to abandon my family to run away to Adrestia with you?” She laughs again, then stands and glares at Constance. “Constance, House Nuvelle is a pipe dream. It is _never_ going to be restored, and you’re going to die for it just like your family did. I’m not abandoning everyone I love for your delusions.”

Her words are cold and unfeeling, and their aim is true. They strike at the center of Constance’s heart, and the damage they do is critical. Constance’s shoulders slump, and she gives the tiniest shake of her head. “Is that really what you think?”

“Constance-” Ingrid starts to speak, but whatever it is she has to say Constance has no desire to hear.

She shakes her head again. “Suit yourself, Ingrid. I hope you’re happy.” Constance turns on her heel and walks out of the room, trying to keep the red-hot sadness contained inside of her. Ingrid can yell at her and call her delusional all she wants, but she is not going to see her cry.

Constance slams Ingrid’s bedroom door behind her, and immediately trips over Sylvain, who’s somehow still asleep despite all the yelling. Constance falls onto her hands and knees, and leaps to her feet with a scoff, dusting herself off.

“Constance?” Sylvain looks up at her from the floor.

Constance tips her head into the air and looks away. “I take it you didn’t hear any of that?”

He shakes his head. “Only the very end. Im used to sleeping through yelling. Are… you okay?”

Constance is reasonably sure that she hasn’t been okay since the death of her family and the loss of her title. Ingrid’s yelling and insults are just another thing to add to the pile. She shrugs. “Not especially.”

“I’m sorry,” Sylvain says. “Don’t go?” He still hasn’t gotten up off the floor.

Constance looks down at him. “There isn’t anything for me here,” she whispers softly. “Goodbye Sylvain.” She turns and heads back down the hall, her skirts billowing around her ankles as she walks.

-

The trip to the Adrestian Empire is longer than she remembered it being. Constance sits in the back of the coach in silence, her hands clasped in her lap as she gazes silently out the window. She’s lonely, in a world-weary, bone-deep way that she thinks she’s going to have to get used to. She has no friends and no allies in either Adrestia or Faerghus. All that’s left to do now is pray that the Emperor takes pity on her.

When Constance arrives in Enbarr, the city is just as she remembers. It’s bustling and busy, the innkeeper in the tavern barely gives her a second look. It’s lucky that she still carries herself like a noble lady, for a fourteen year old girl checking herself into a tavern is sure to attract some odd and unwanted attention. She’s on her own now though, and the sooner she gets used to it, the better.

She’s all set to head to court in the morning, and has laid out her one remaining ‘good’ dress to keep it as wrinkle-free as possible. She’s planning to turn in for an early, lonesome evening, when there’s a knock at the door. 

Constance hesitates, but a voice comes from outside, “Message for you, miss!” She sighs and opens the door, bracing herself for the Emperor to have somehow refused her petition for status before even meeting with her.

Instead, she’s handed a letter with her name on it in a familiar, slanting script. It feels lighter than Constance had thought it would, knowing what it likely contains. It has to be an apology. Ingrid may have levelled horrible insults at her, but she wouldn’t send more by mail. It’s an apology, and it might even be a sincere one.

If she stretches her imagination, Constance can form a good idea of the sort of drivel the letter contains. She thanks the messenger, then shuts the door and scowls down at the piece of paper in her hands. Constance considers her options, holding the letter loosely, as though it may grow teeth and snap at her. She could open it, and decide whether or not she thinks Ingrid means her words. She could hear her out, do her the courtesy that Ingrid did not give her.

Or, she could strike out on her own. She isn’t going to be at the beck and call of other people for her whole life, and she isn’t going to let a few pretty words soothe her hurt. She knows what she must do. Constance takes a deep breath, summons a fire spell, and burns the letter without a second thought.

She’ll move forward on her own merit, and she won’t need anyone else to do it.


End file.
